


Sins

by perdue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Potpourri - Fandom
Genre: Love Triangles, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Original Fiction, Suicide Attempt, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 14:03:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5588884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdue/pseuds/perdue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is more than one way to die, and Peter Kenton meets his death at the place where manipulation and mental instability collide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rendezvous

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe i'm actually posting original work on ao3 but here we are...
> 
> most of the characters here don't actually belong to me personally, but they're all a part of a large group of stories written by me and two other people. this is the first one i wrote, and i haven't even finished it yet, and i am very proud of its length given how shoddy i am at multi-chapter things.
> 
> in any case, the protag suffers from depression and an avoidant personality disorder and although the story starts out nicely there is going to be an attempted suicide in a later chapter so if reading about that or a severe mental breakdown will bother you i would not read this.
> 
> and if you do read this even though it's basically just harry potter fanfiction with all new characters, i literally can't thank you enough for your support. (also look for these characters in my upcoming novel that also isn't finished yet haha)

The courtyard sparkled as the sun reached zenith, a spring breeze finally losing the chill of winter and whistling through branches bursting with buds waiting to bloom. The stone table was just large enough for the two sitting there, one of Morgan Nazari’s tea sets between them, this one painted with daffodils and glinting in the bright light unmarred by clouds. Peter poured Perceval’s afternoon tea for him, adding four heaping teaspoons of sugar and a dash of cream. When he first joined the Hogwarts Host Club, he scowled uncontrollably at the mere thought of having to pour tea for someone other than his sister, much less the sheer amount of sugar Perceval Elton required before he would drink it. By now, he knew how to prepare Perceval’s tea like the back of his hand, and he was able to do so with an entirely neutral expression.

Perceval, of course, was babbling about something inconsequential as usual, but Peter had already tuned him out. He had felt stretched, recently. With N.E.W.T.s coming soon, on top of classes and Host Club activities, he was busier than he’d ever been before. And now that he was working to relieve the discomfort of being confronted with femininity, and especially now that he’d put serious thought and effort into improving his abysmal personality, he had quite a few more clients clamoring for his time than there had been at the beginning of the year.

Peter thought with muted surprise that, for the first time in his life, he had friends. The other hosts turned out to be people Peter found he could talk to, and he really didn’t think he was just imagining that they enjoyed talking to him as well.

As strangely happy as he felt at the drastic way his life had changed since the year began, there was still something hanging over him like a haze, but much too familiar. The feeling of soft blue eyes and mahogany hair and pink lips puffing out a sweet breath as they say—

“Peter! I don’t think you’relisteningtome. Have you even heard a single word I’ve said?”

Peter refocused his gaze on Perceval, and grimaced when he saw the other boy was pouting. “You talk too much. You can’t expect me to listen to you nonstop.”

“Now, that is completely un-host-like. What would Morgan say?” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Perhaps you should have made sure I was host-like before dragging me into that club and getting that snake’s fangs into me in the first place,” he said testily, though he poured him another cup as he did so. Perceval smiled his kind smile and placed a hand on the one Peter was using to pour the tea, effectively making him freeze as his eyes shot up to Perceval’s face.

“I’m only jesting, Peter. You know there’sareason you’re one of my most sought-after hosts.”

“Because you enjoy tormenting me?” he answered without missing a beat. He thought then, however, that Perceval had misspoken, though whether intentionally or unintentionally he was unsure. Peter was by far his most sought-after host. Before a month ago Peter and Simone had mostly shared him, with the occasional date with Wilfred, Julian or Micah, just so he could have fun teasing them. But lately Perceval hadn’t seen Simone at all, leaving most of his time for Peter. He had wondered why suddenly Percy seemed to be avoiding Simone, but the blond never brought it up despite never shutting up, so Peter thought it better to not mention it.

Much to Peter’s surprise, though, Perceval grew silent then, expression strangely unreadable for a few moments before he broke out into a smile. “Naturally,” he finally said, tone playful and easing the way Peter’s chest had constricted at being stared at like that. “It’s not nearlyasdifficult to get under your skin as it was the first time I met you, and you must know Ienjoythechallenge.”

There was an irritating, though not uncomfortable, fluttering in Peter’s stomach at the words. He cursed the heat that had certainly reached his face, as well as the way Perceval’s eyes lit up at his obvious triumph. He almost felt disgusted with himself. He’d spent most of his life miserable, always desiring friendship and finding with frustration deep in his heart that it was far out of his reach. Now that someone actively sought out his companionship, even though that someone was notorious for being obnoxious, even treacherous in some circles, Peter found himself drawn to the feeling of finally being wanted.

“Though I appeartohavestumbledupon a much more exciting reaction than when I merely inspire your ire,” he continued. Peter expected for Perceval’s expression to be teasing, or mischievous, or anything that would provoke him to scowl as Percy was wont to do. But he only looked happy, even verging on the same flirtatious look Peter sometimes saw Julian shoot to Wilfred. “In fact, I rather like this reaction. Much more entertaining than making you angry.”

Peter pursed his lips and averted his eyes. “Entertaining, huh?”

He felt fingers brush against his and again tensed, looking down at where Perceval lightly but purposefully touched him. “Not just entertaining. With your cheeks tinged this way, onecan’thelpbut recall a pink camellia, and the radiance of her soft petals. You’re positively captivating when you look like this, Peter. I would never have imagined in allofmycapriciousdaydreams that you could tempt me so.”

Peter was sure his cheeks had darkened, and he did frown, though it wasn’t yet a scowl. “You’re talking to me like I’m the next girl you plan to leave heartbroken,” he remarked irritably. Perceval’s smile faltered for a moment.

“I know my reputation precedes me, but I assure you this is not a ploy. I’m being completely genuine,” he said gently, and Peter wasn’t sure if he was prepared to face what it would mean if Perceval was indeed being genuine.

A vision of soft blue eyes appeared in his mind—or, rather, they appeared at the other end of the courtyard, as Peter became aware that Simone was standing there and looking at them. Peter blinked and paled and then blushed again and quickly pulled his hand away from Perceval’s.

It was at this point that Perceval looked over and saw Simone was there. Peter thought he saw them make eye contact for a moment before Percy turned away, his usual smile back in place. “It appears that our hour together has already reached its end. I suppose I’ll have to patiently await our Wednesday rendez-vous.” He quickly finished his cup of tea and put it back on the platter on which Peter had brought it down. “And as always, my gratitude for the tea. Made to perfection as usual.”

Peter stood and bowed and quickly gathered all of the pieces of the tea set onto the platter before rushing away as quickly as he could without dropping the delicate china. He stopped by Simone, and although the brunet seemed solemn as he approached, he smiled at Peter. “Your next client is already awaiting you in the Room of Requirement. I told her you’d be running a little late from another appointment.”

“Th-thanks, er, she’s not mad, is she?”

Simone’s grin widened, and he almost laughed. “No, in fact she was perfectly reasonable. Though I wouldn’t waste much more time, or Morgan might be at your throat. Do you require any assistance?”

“Right, ah, no, I’m fine. Er, though, do you want to study together tomorrow? I think I’m falling behind in Herbology again…”

Peter’s heart was in his throat but he felt a little surge of pride that he’d actually managed to speak coherently. But the feeling was short-lived when Simone gave him a bright smile, a small amount of color warming his cheeks, and Peter felt absolutely humiliated at the way his stomach did flip-flops and his heart pounded so hard against his chest he thought it might be trying to escape.

“Sure, Peter. That sounds great.” Yes, Peter was certainly experiencing a great deal of humiliation as he stood and stared at Simone for quite a few moments in silence, long enough that Simone gave him a confused look. “Er, shouldn’t you hurry to the Room of Requirement? I’ll see you there later.”

Finally Peter seemed to remember himself and nodded and said goodbye, rushing away and almost tripping and dropping the contents of the platter all over the floor. He was so flustered he didn’t even think to notice the way Simone’s eyes met Perceval’s again as he was leaving, nor the way Simone’s hand clenched into a fist as he walked away in the other direction.


	2. Tensions

The library was dim, especially at this time of night. It reminded Simone of the night a month ago, and he tried to ignore the flicker of the candle at the only table in use as he walked over to it. Perceval was there, a book open in his hands though it had clearly lost his attention as his fluorescent chartreuse eyes drifted up to meet Simone’s as he approached. He looked as though he had expected Simone to come, and the slight upturn of his lips did not seem as kind as usual when his eyes glinted with venom in the soft light of the flame nearby.

“All this time I’ve followed your desire for me to stay away from you and yet here you are, first to break the rule of your very own making. To what do I owe the pleasure, Simone?”

Simone chuckled, finally close enough to pluck the book from Perceval’s hands. “You’re as loquacious as ever, I see. Are you still reading this book? It’s been a month, surely you’ve finished it by now.”

Perceval gave him an innocent look through his lashes. “I only wanted to set up a sense of theatrical parallelism, for the purposes of our second dramatic library confrontation. It’s well suited, is it not?” Simone really laughed, then, and placed the book down on the table.

“I didn’t even know if I would find you here.”

“Oh, but _I_ knew you would come.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Simone opened his mouth to speak well before he found the words to say.

“Before, you said that you and I are alike,” he finally murmured, and Perceval smiled.

“And you’re no more difficult to read now than you were a month ago, though you seem twice the brood.”

Simone wanted to laugh, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. “You know why I’m here,” he said, not a question but searching for confirmation nevertheless. Perceval tilted his head just so and gave him a condescending smile.

“I could certainly make an educated guess,” he offered.

“You take pleasure out of breaking beautiful things.”

“I suppose I’ve been known to elicit misfortune on occasion—”

“I want you to stay away from Peter.”

Perceval blinked after being interrupted, and the silence that followed Simone’s words was stifling in the already stuffy library. Simone wasn’t sure exactly which emotions he saw running through the younger boy’s eyes, but they left Perceval speechless for several seconds.

“What’s this?” the blond finally managed. “Are you implying—”

“You know exactly what I’m implying. I still don’t know what it is you’re up to, but Peter stays out of it. He’s worked diligently this year to finally find a shred of happiness and I refuse to watch you snuff it out due to your deranged attraction to watching others burn.”

“And who was it that led him to that happiness in the first place?” Perceval replied hotly, his smile gone and his venomous eyes daring Simone to contradict him. Simone was finally able to laugh again, as such an emotional response from Perceval had been completely unexpected. But his smile turned cold as he drew in breath to speak.

“You may have dragged him into Morgan’s clutches, but he joined because he expected _me_ to be there.”

He stopped short, a pit of dread in his stomach at what he’d just said and at the fact that he couldn’t take it back, for Perceval’s eyes had already lit up.

“So you _have_ noticed the way he looks at you,” he said, voice verging on a whisper and more surprised than Simone really thought necessary. Regardless, Simone couldn’t answer. What was there to say? Of course he had noticed. Peter was certainly the most transparent person he had ever met, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t somewhat enjoy the attention. He’d always been a bit narcissistic, after all.

And if that were all there was to the matter, there wouldn’t be a problem. But Simone couldn’t honestly say to himself that it was so simple anymore. So he didn’t answer, and Perceval took his silence as an invitation to continue.

“I admit I’ll be rather disappointed in your powers of perception if you haven’t. Our dear friend Peter is anything but subtle, and I certainly don’t want to believe you’re quite that thick. And though I understand that little outbursts like the one you just made could perfectly well be a result of your tragically irreversible egotism, one can’t help but wonder—”

“Stop,” Simone cut in, but this time Perceval ignored him.

“—that _all_ of this, your outburst and your desire for me to stay away, is in fact a surprisingly possessive indication of reciprocated feelings. Is that not it?”

Simone chewed on his bottom lip and didn’t know if he should hate the delighted look in Perceval’s eyes or be wary that there was still something malicious swimming in them. He turned away completely and forced a laugh, arms crossed protectively over his chest. “Oh, please, Perceval. Even you should know how unlikely that sounds. Would you really expect such a simple answer to be true?”

At last Perceval stood from his chair, and Simone tensed when the blond touched his back with careful fingertips. “Naturally not. For in the end, you still don’t dare touch, do you? Almost hilarious, really, seeing as not touching is what will finally make us exactly alike.”

“I never said that his feelings were reciprocated.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Perceval nearly purred, moving closer, both of his hands touching Simone’s sides more firmly. “I can see it; in your genuine smiles, in lingering glances. You crave that feeling to stir inside you again as much as you fear it. When you look at Peter, you see what you wish you could attain for yourself.”

“And what could that possibly be?” Simone ground out, body tense under Perceval’s hands.

“Hope, of course.” The smile in his voice was already clear, but Simone felt it when the younger boy pressed his face against the back of his neck. “Peter has shown you with all of his outward and glaring flaws that it’s possible to change, if only slowly. If even Peter—obstinate, unpleasant Peter—can better himself, surely even you can too?” Simone closed his eyes as he felt Perceval’s hands move from his sides wrap around his chest just under where his own arms were crossed, enveloping him in a loose yet suffocating embrace. “But even with those feelings you still instinctively hold back your hand. After all, in your life it’s only the ones to whom you grow truly attached that abandon you.”

Simone’s eyes snapped open and he pulled away from Perceval, whirling around to look at him with his heart beating fast against his ribcage. Now that the Ravenclaw was in front of the candle rather than behind it, his face was shrouded in darkness, a soft halo of red reflecting from his blond hair. “It truly is unfair to Peter for him to be unaware of last year’s events, don’t you think? That even at this very moment, you’re clinging to feelings you agonized over, and that in the end nothing came of them. But then again…”

He trailed off for a moment, and Simone gritted his teeth, certain he knew exactly what Perceval was going to say yet finding for once that his own voice was dead in his throat. Even in the darkness he could see Perceval’s smile.

“I hear Orion has returned to Hogwarts, has even appealed to Morgan to return to the Host Club. Perhaps _that_ ,” he paused with a pointed look, “is the real reason that you won’t admit your feelings even to yourself. A choice has to be made, and I think that the fact that you continue to torment yourself shows that you know in your heart what the decision will be.”

Perceval reached up again, one hand touching Simone’s collar bone gently before it moved to his neck, fingers reaching back to the same place Simone had felt the sadistic smile against his skin. But no number of soft touches from him was going to calm Simone’s heart that was beating with a hard rage, only mutely feeling surprised when he felt the boy’s fingernails dig into the skin to roughly pull their faces closer together.

“It’s not me who will break Peter, Simone. It’s you.”

Simone was unable to stop himself from fisting the front of Perceval’s shirt, backing him up to knock against the table, where the candle wobbled and threatened to fall. “My, how you do love to talk,” he murmured, calling upon all the self-control he had not to sound as livid as he felt as he stared into Perceval’s wide and shocked eyes. “But I’m quite done listening to these stark pictures you’re always so intent on painting of me. I simply came here in hopes of finding you to tell you to leave Peter alone. That’s all.”

He was about to let go when Perceval raised his voice only to say one word: “No.”

Simone could only blink, his fingers still clutching the frills and ribbons covering Perceval’s torso. “What do you mean, no?” he finally asked.

“I mean exactly what I said,” Perceval replied lightly. Simone stared at him in confusion for a long moment.

“If you’re so sure that I will be the one to break him, if you really have _no_ ulterior motive in occupying his time as much as you do, then why exactly do you spend so much time with him in the first place?”

Perceval’s smile returned, but it was small, and melancholy. He reached up calmly to Simone’s hands and Simone didn’t resist as Perceval removed them from his chest. As he reached behind him for his book, he said, “No reason other than that I enjoy his company. And I really don’t believe it’s up to you to try to control my actions around anyone but yourself.”

With that, he held the book to his chest where Simone’s hands had just held him threateningly against the table and began to walk away.

“I despise you,” Simone said quietly. Perceval stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“I highly doubt that. Somewhere in your heart I’m sure you will always be fond of me, and for good reason,” he said without turning around. He tightened his arms around the old and worn copy of Oscar Wilde’s biography. “ _I represent to you all the sins you have never had the courage to commit._ ”

Silence hung between them for several moments until this time he walked away without another word, leaving Simone alone with his turbulent thoughts.


	3. Closer

“Should we go to the library?” Peter asked as he and Simone left their dormitory. When Simone halted mid-step, Peter already wondered if he’d said something wrong or insensitive, but a moment later the brunet smiled and shook his head.

“Why not just study in the common room? It’s more comfortable, and we’re less likely to be interrupted,” he said, trudging down the stairs in such a lethargic way that Peter wondered how he managed to be such a popular host.

“You’re just being lazy, aren’t you…” Peter muttered, only to get a soft wap to the back of his head.

“Watch it,” the brunet warned in his most threatening tone, but when Peter looked over his shoulder he saw that Simone was smiling. He wondered with heat already rising in his cheeks if not being interrupted would be any more helpful than not being distracted by playful blue eyes and frequent smiles that turned his heart into a trapped bird fluttering with desperation to escape. Somehow, he doubted it.

“I guess you’re right. At least Julian can’t bother us since he’s busy with Wilf all day.”

They set up at one of the tables in the common room, sitting opposite each other. There were a few other younger students sitting by the fireplace, few enough that Peter still felt that he and Simone shared a shred of privacy. As they both opened their copies of _Flesh-Eating Trees of the World_ , Peter glanced at his study partner and tried to talk over the lump in his throat as he asked, “What do you think of them, by the way?”

Part of him asked just because he knew Simone liked talking, especially about himself or his own opinions. But there was also a level of true curiosity, because Peter only ever saw Simone looking at girls, and knowing his stance on their friends who were bad at hiding that they were in fact more than friends would at least give him an idea of whether or not he had a chance.

He blinked and reddened at the fact that he even just had that thought, but Simone was still looking at his textbook, trying to find the correct page for their homework. “What, about Julian and Wilfred? They’re both good people, despite Julian’s tendency to try to fool anyone within a one-hundred kilometer radius. And his vocabulary. I still want to wash his mouth out with soap.”

“No, I mean…” he started, head spinning with nervousness and staring intently at his study partner, “you know they’ve gotten really close, especially after poor Wilfy’s girlfriend broke up with him. It kinda seems like… I-I mean, what do you think of them, _together_ …”

Simone finally looked up and met Peter’s eyes, which made Peter jump in surprise and avert his own. But as always, if Simone noticed how red his face was he was kind enough not to comment.

“They certainly care about each other. Who knows, maybe Wilfred can teach Julian a little common sense. Or common decency? Either would be good, I think,” he said, and smirked. “Though I also suppose the likelihood of him learning either of those things is slim at best, even if it’s Wilfred doing the teaching. Regardless, they’re good for each other. That much is obvious.”

Their eyes met for a moment, and when Simone smiled Peter dropped his gaze down to his textbook, so Simone did the same. A minute passed of the both of them reading, although Peter’s eyes were more scanning without seeing, until Simone raised his voice again.

“Why do you ask, Peter?”

Peter tensed and looked up only to find that Simone was looking at him. He quickly looked away again. There was no good answer that didn’t reveal the feelings he’d been trying to hide.

“Er… No reason, really. Just curious,” he managed to say. Simone nodded his understanding and turned back to the textbook. But Peter’s stomach was suddenly in knots. It felt wrong and unnatural to tell an outright lie.

“Which section was giving you the most trouble?”

“Oh, er, it’s the essay on the ethics of the Ministry’s regulation of self-fertilising shrubs. I think some of my points are lacking.”

“Really? Do you have it with you?”

“Y-Yeah, here…” He pulled the folded up parchment from between the pages of his textbook and handed it to Simone, whose nose wrinkled a bit at the sloppy folding and creases from careless handling. But he unfolded it without comment and set to reading it. Peter tried not to stare at him too much, mouth dry from nervousness at what Simone would think. He rarely if ever shared writing with anyone unless it was his professors and they were forcing him to; not even his psychiatrist was privy to what he wrote in his diary. But as Simone’s eyes scanned the parchment, there were no furrowed brows or frowns, no sign to indicate that he was displeased with what he saw. On the contrary, when he finally looked up and met Peter’s eyes, his own seemed both surprised and impressed.

“I had no clue you possessed the ability to write so skillfully,” he said, and Peter looked down with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. “I suppose it makes sense, considering how much time you spend writing in your journal. The old adage about practice and perfection is certainly true in your case. Though, you haven’t written in your journal in a while.” When Peter looked up again, he saw that Simone was smiling softly at him. He felt faint for a moment, but managed to control himself. “Has your anger lessened this year?”

Peter bit his lip and used all his willpower to keep his eyes on Simone’s. “I think so… I think a lot has been changing. S-Since I joined the Host Club, and all.” He paused, thinking Simone would start talking. But his dorm mate just looked at him expectantly. “Er, I know I haven’t always been very pleasant to talk to. It must be strange, f-for someone like you… even if you’re muggle born, most people don’t really understand. I’m getting better! But most of the time I’ve known you, there was… there is…”

He trailed off, too embarrassed to say what he was really thinking. _There’s something wrong with my brain._ How could he articulate that his anger, his impulsive behavior, the rudeness and the avoidance—that all of those things had been uncontrollable? That he’d never truly wanted to isolate himself?

But to his surprise, Simone caught his attention again, locking gazes with him. “I understand, Peter,” he said. For some reason Peter felt like a deer caught in headlights, tensed with fear. “It’s difficult to describe what you’re feeling,” Simone added, and Peter noticed that his hand had inched forward on the table, closer to Peter’s fisted one but not enough to touch him. For a moment Peter was reminded of yesterday, when he’d had his afternoon tea with Perceval—when Perceval had touched his hand not once, but twice. He blinked, unsure why that recollection suddenly came to his mind, and tried to forget it by looking away from the table. “I would like to see it from your perspective, though. Now that we share a friendly relationship, seeing eye to eye is important, no?”

Peter swallowed and met Simone’s eyes again. The brunet’s words echoed in Peter’s mind. He nodded, a deeply grateful feeling washing through him, though he still felt embarrassed at how his body quivered with the effort it took to say what he wanted to say. Simone was still looking at him expectantly.

“I…” he started, but had to stop, had to breathe. “I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist for as long as I can remember. You’re muggle-born, so I’m sure you at least somewhat know – some of the things they diagnosed me with. I’ve been told I have depression, antisocial disorder, a borderline personality… You don’t really understand what those things are as a child, but you know there’s a problem. My mother was never there, my brother and father shut me out. The only person who loved me in spite of how awful I’ve always been was Mary.”

“Your sister is very important to you,” Simone said softly, and now his eyes were averted. Peter nodded regardless.

“For a long time I thought the only person I’d ever be able to love was her. I – I probably owe her my life,” he admitted, and saying it out loud left him with a feeling of dread, still trembling with the energy it took to be so candid about himself. Part of him hoped Simone wouldn’t think too much on how literally to take that statement. But even that small hope was wasted, for when Simone met his eyes again, they were full with a mixture of muted horror and overwhelming compassion. 

“I don’t think I can overstate how glad I am that you have her,” he said quietly, and with feeling. A long silence followed his words, but just when Peter thought he would rather melt than have Simone look at him like that, the brunet continued. “I’m also glad to hear you apparently have found you can love someone besides her.”

Peter jolted, face going completely red. “Er—I mean, of course – I-I’ve come to – to love all of the friends I’ve made.”

Simone didn’t respond immediately, his expression strangely drawn for a moment before he remembered himself. “Naturally,” he said, and smiled, though Peter had a vague feeling in his chest that it was a forced smile. “We all are happy to see how far you’ve come, Peter.”

“I…”

Peter swallowed. He hadn’t been truthful again. Not that he had outright lied this time—after all, he did care deeply for his new friends, probably more deeply than he had the capacity to let on. But _he_ knew he’d meant something different, and above all he feared that Simone knew that as well. He was watching Peter expectantly again.

“… I’m scared.” Simone gave him a confused look, clearly not having expected this to be what Peter finally said. “S-Scared that how far I’ve come isn’t really good enough. I want to be likeable, but I feel like I still have so far to go. And it’s not that I want to be likeable just for the sake of being liked—I… I don’t know. Maybe that is it. I’m just tired of being alone. …That’s probably bad of me.”

“It’s not bad,” Simone cut in. His eyebrows were drawn slightly. “And you aren’t alone. I— _we_ don’t want you to be afraid. You’re doing much better than you think you are. Your friends will continue to hold you up.” He paused for a moment, seemingly struggling with his wording. Peter blinked at the warm feeling in his chest. It was a rare occasion to see Simone as anything less than eloquent. “I apologize for being so forward, but _I_ never want to see your hopes dashed. It’s only natural to desire to feel loved, and you deserve it as much as any of us.”

Peter pinked considerably, his shoulders nearly reaching his ears in an embarrassed posture. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I… It means a lot – to hear you say that.”

There was a warm, emotional feeling in the air between them, tinged with a tenseness that Peter couldn’t parse. He felt surprise run through him when Simone did close the distance between them—his hand brushed Peter’s very lightly, enough that anyone could have assumed it was an accident. But he smiled softly and said, “I care about you,” in such a gentle voice that there could be no doubt in Peter’s mind that it was intentional. A heavy breath escaped him, almost an embarrassed laugh, and Peter’s facial muscles felt strange as his lips pulled into a simper. Simone blinked in surprise, and then he was also grinning. “Peter, you’re smiling!” he remarked playfully.

“I’m happy,” he admitted, voice breathy and edging on blushing laughter. After several moments he finally continued, “Ah, er, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know how I ended up taking up this whole time talking about myself. We should – should—”

“Yes, we should continue with your essay,” Simone finished for him, and his smile was sincere. He pulled the parchment toward him again, but the hand that was touching Peter’s never moved, and in that moment Peter was sure nothing in his life had ever felt more perfect. “One moment, I’ll read over it once more and give you some constructive criticism.”


End file.
